by Nicola Marsh
There was no newfangled plastic play equipment or electric barbecue here. Just rudimentary wooden climbing frames and benches, and that spectacular view over the ocean—a view she’d treasured from the first time she’d camped here at seven years of age.
They stood on the edge of the park, hand in hand, and her heart swelled with love for this man who understood her and accepted her and loved her unconditionally.
He’d put up with her buying an old house in Kew and renovating it to six-star energy efficiency, he’d tolerated her chickens taking up the sole corner of their back yard that hadn’t been converted into a veggie patch, and he hadn’t blinked when she’d taken up the next greatest environmental cause and spent two months in the Gulf of Carpentaria.
He let her be herself while demonstrating his love in so many ways. When she woke before him each morning and watched him sleep, his mouth relaxed, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks, she wondered what she’d done to deserve him.
‘How can I ever thank you for doing this? For merging our dreams for the land together and creating harmony? For understanding how much preserving the marine area here meant to me? For everything?’
He touched her earring—a platinum killer whale with a twinkling diamond eye—and smiled.
‘The day you agreed to marry me was thanks enough.’
‘That’s incredibly corny.’
Adorably bashful, he shrugged. ‘What can I say? I’m a novice in this love business.’
‘Lucky for us, we can learn as we go along.’
Sliding her hands around his neck, she lowered his head and kissed him. Perfect.
When her husband kissed like a dream she could quite happily look forward to a lifetime of hands-on practice in the love stakes.
Read on for a sneak preview of Carol Marinelli’s
PUTTING ALICE BACK TOGETHER!
Hugh hired bikes!
You know that saying: ‘It’s like riding a bike, you never forget’?
I’d never learnt in the first place.
I never got past training wheels.
‘You’ve got limited upper-body strength?’ He stopped and looked at me.
I had been explaining to him as I wobbled along and tried to stay up that I really had no centre of balance. I mean really had no centre of balance. And when we decided, fairly quickly, that a bike ride along the Yarra perhaps, after all, wasn’t the best activity (he’d kept insisting I’d be fine once I was on, that you never forget), I threw in too my other disability. I told him about my limited upper-body strength, just in case he took me to an indoor rock-climbing centre next. I’d honestly forgotten he was a doctor, and he seemed worried, like I’d had a mini-stroke in the past or had mild cerebral palsy or something.
‘God, Alice, I’m sorry—you should have said. What happened?’
And then I had had to tell him that it was a self-diagnosis. ‘Well, I could never get up the ropes at the gym at school.’ We were pushing our bikes back. ‘I can’t blow-dry the back of my hair …’ He started laughing.
Not like Lisa who was laughing at me—he was just laughing and so was I. We got a full refund because we’d only been on our bikes ten minutes, but I hadn’t failed. If anything, we were getting on better.
And better.
We went to St Kilda to the lovely bitty shops and I found these miniature Russian dolls. They were tiny, made of tin or something, the biggest no bigger than my thumbnail. Every time we opened them, there was another tiny one, and then another, all reds and yellows and greens.
They were divine.
We were facing each other, looking down at the palm of my hand, and our heads touched.
If I put my hand up now, I can feel where our heads touched.
I remember that moment.
I remember it a lot.
Our heads connected for a second and it was alchemic; it was as if our minds kissed hello.
I just have to touch my head, just there at the very spot and I can, whenever I want to, relive that moment.
So many times I do.
‘Get them.’ Hugh said, and I would have, except that little bit of tin cost more than a hundred dollars and, though that usually wouldn’t have stopped me, I wasn’t about to have my card declined in front of him.
I put them back.
‘Nope.’ I gave him a smile. ‘Gotta stop the impulse spending.’
We had lunch.
Out on the pavement and I can’t remember what we ate, I just remember being happy. Actually, I can remember: I had Caesar salad because it was the lowest carb thing I could find. We drank water and I do remember not giving it a thought.
I was just thirsty.
And happy.
He went to the loo and I chatted to a girl at the next table, just chatted away. Hugh was gone for ages and I was glad I hadn’t demanded Dan from the universe, because I would have been worried about how long he was taking.
Do I go on about the universe too much? I don’t know, but what I do know is that something was looking out for me, helping me to be my best, not to **** this up as I usually do. You see, we walked on the beach, we went for another coffee and by that time it was evening and we went home and he gave me a present.
Those Russian dolls.
I held them in my palm, and it was the nicest thing he could have done for me.
They are absolutely my favourite thing and I’ve just stopped to look at them now. I’ve just stopped to take them apart and then put them all back together again and I can still feel the wonder I felt on that day.
He was the only man who had bought something for me, I mean something truly special. Something beautiful, something thoughtful, something just for me.
© Carol Marinelli
2012 Available at millsandboon.co.uk
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II BV/S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
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First published in Great Britain 2012
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited.
Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,
Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
© Nicola Marsh 2012
ISBN: 978-1-408-97268-7